Savage Grace - Natalie Robins (41 page)
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, November 27, 1969
c/o
Michael Edwards
London, W. 1
Sam darling—
Got here last night. I spoke to my mother this morning who is putting an ad in the newspaper so maybe I’ll be able to rent my flat in New York without going back.
The terrible Brooks cut my allowance by a third this month. Received the news while at Ethel’s. She was so furious she offered to lend me $15,000—I accepted $10,000 so when I come back to do battle, I will be, at least, armed. This, after I sent him a wire on our anniversary which started “Once upon a time.” Anyway, isn’t Ethel
adorable
—I am so touched by my friends, I just can’t tell you.
Also,
& this will amuse you—Ethel got invited for the first time in 25 years by Cécile de Rothschild to the country. She & Cécile had a dinner alone together which aside from the soup & fish consisted of a barrage of questions, inquiries, speculations and so on about
me!
Cécile to Ethel: “I hear that Sam is having an affair with
that woman!
”
Am looking at the Cadogan Square flat again today.
Lots of love,
Barbara
Telegram from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, February 13, 1970
I SEND YOU A B-B-B-BABY FOR A VALENTINE MY LOVE BARBARA
Elizabeth Blow
Well, first it was
his
baby—she was going to have Sam Green’s baby. And she was in her forties, her
late
forties! And this was, okay, possible, but not probable, and I was really concerned about her. Then she switched it from Sam’s baby to just
a
baby. By—by
God.
I am dead serious. If you interpreted her rather garbled, marvelously excited conversation, this was really the Immaculate Conception all over again. Well, then I got really seriously alarmed.
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, March 21, 1970
London, W. 1
Dear Sam—
Am reading Kenneth Clark. Came across an interesting definition of Moses’ burning bush in a book on Fairford Church and its windows. It appears the bush was meant to contain the Divine Presence & burned without being consumed. It was meant to have contained the body of the Blessed Virgin when she became the Mother of the Son of God. But there’s a big difference between bush fires & such, is there not, Sam?
Barbara
Sylvie Baekeland Skira
She pretended to Brooks first that she was pregnant by Sam Green and then that this was an Immaculate Conception or whatever it was, so that gives you a vague idea of the romanticism, if you want to call it that. I call it sheer looniness. She didn’t have solidity anymore, because Brooks had always been her anchor. This was why he was so worried about her when he left, because he knew he was the only one who could keep her out of trouble.
Elizabeth Blow
She went off someplace—out of town or out of the country, I can’t remember—and I happened to be seeing Nini and I wondered if
she
knew about the baby and I thought maybe we should talk about this thing, but then I thought,
Should
we? Anyway, one day Barbara simply stopped talking about it herself. She was busy again, decorating the new apartment in London.
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, May 4, 1970
81 Cadogan Square
London, S.W. 1
Darling Sam—
So good speaking to you last night. You are my confidence man (I mean you give it to me). Anyway I have bought the flat and am in the process of decorating it. I have made marvelous progress—all electricity put in order, couches designed by me & being made, (very pretty) pictures hung, curtains cleaned, dining-room table painted in black lacquer (am off now to pay for it). Tomorrow will buy plants & a tree for upstairs.
And tomorrow my beautiful steel bed comes! Right now I am sitting on my mattress surrounded by a welter of papers—notes to myself, chores to do, ideas, etc. On my mattress is a most lovely coverlet made by my grandmother which gives me the most extraordinary comforting sensation—as if her hand were on my cheek. Divine wallpaper for bedroom.
I’ve knocked down the partition between the upstairs rooms and it looks smashing. Am taking down the balustrade as well—I have a pretty china planter to replace horrid newel post—and am using my two 19th cent. steel park benches as barriers.
From time to time—at 4
A.M.
or 5—I wonder
why
I am involved in all these banalities and I dearly wish for the peace and contemplation necessary to go on with my novel.
To listen to the sound of rain would be such a joy…an awareness of time—one’s own, that is. One thing I have thought is that the more complex the synapses in the brain, the further the curve to infinity—for didn’t Einstein say that infinity was comprised of many small dots that became through denseness a kind of exponential curve?
I wish I could see you. You are one of the halves of my reality, the other being Tony. I miss you both, and all my friends, and I cannot
stand
the lower-middle-class Englishman—the shopkeeper with his servility, his inefficiency, and appalling snobbishness. I really dislike the English as much as I can anyone & I’m sure my Celtic blood knows why.
I just hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake with this flat. Would so much rather be working on Miramar and waiting for you to (maybe!) show up—I’m such a hopeless optimist.
In Mallorca there kept resounding in my mind a refrain which was “And this is the way the world ends”—only it wasn’t—it doesn’t.
Here’s a kiss for the middle of your mind—from mine.
Love,
Barbara
P.S. Thank you, Sam, for all your encouragement—urgings—to take this flat. It will be a successful venture—I feel it!
Letter from Antony Baekeland to Sam Green, May 15, 1970
Miramar
Valldemosa
Mallorca
Dear Sam—
Happy birthday—Mummy wrote me you had one around this time. It’s beautiful here but we are having a bit of trouble with a whole chain of furious masons who have not been paid by the horse person who claims not to have been paid by Mummy who has paid him she says.
The other day when I was fishing I had a look for some earrings Mummy tossed away when she was at the next farm. I couldn’t find them as I had really no idea of where she was sitting—“under some tree,” she said. So I’ve asked her to send me a map because it’s a shame to lose the beautiful ones you gave her.
Told Maria I’m writing you and she sends salutations. I’m working quite hard on some clay I got in Palma and making small animals and things.
Love,
9 Tony
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, June 20, 1970
Miramar
Valldemosa
Mallorca
Darling Sam—
Could I ask you to do me two favors. I was told about a Pekingese lady by Mrs. Turner, the service tenant at 81 Cadogan Square. I called her and she has a little red bitch that I dearly want. If you could have a look at the parents to estimate size & quality I’d be “ever so grateful” (Eliza speaking!). She will bring the merchandise to you—just call.
Also, Tony has a hankering to give some Scottish bagpipes to a Spanish friend. It seems they used to play them around here. They can be found at a shop at 14A Clifford St.
Love—
Barbara
P.S. Baborca the Arab stallion is for sale and I long to buy him, but when I finished doing the flat in London I had only $229.00 to last me until July 1st—
just
under the wire! But I will only owe one more $1,000 on the flat and will be able to pay back Muriel Murphy and my mother in September—Emily Staempfli next, and then Ethel! How large is
your
begging bowl?
Letter from Sam Green to Barbara Baekeland, June 25, 1970
c/o
Cecil Beaton
Salisbury
England
Dear Barbara,
Talk about bliss! Getting out of N.Y. has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’ll find me a new and charminger person. You may find that as early as a week from now.
I arrived on Sunday to find Cecil in the hospital. So I had several days to fill up on my own.
I’ll be arriving at Palma on Fri. or Saturday. I’m looking forward to seeing you and Tony and Miramar. I will be there with a bagpipe but
not
with a Peke. You’ll have to get your own horrid defective thing. Besides, I know
nothing
about dogs and would botch the job.
Love,
Sam
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, July 28, 1970
Miramar
Valldemosa
Mallorca
Dear Sam—
I’m sorry we missed each other and couldn’t say goodbye. Ethel, who had been having a rather miserable time (all my fault), wanted to see the convent and I simply couldn’t say no. It was interesting and I lost track of time. Anyway I didn’t think you would leave for another few days and can’t imagine how I could have not seen you between the house and the beach. Anyway in going to the beach we did see Tony but didn’t stop. He appeared to have had an accident and was trying to straighten out a dented fender but the car belongs to Hugo Money-Coutts and not only does Tony not have permission to use it but he has no license. If he should have another accident I’m afraid it would be hell on him. He might be locked up for years. If you have any influence with him you might point out to him the danger of using other people’s property without proper sanction and of breaking laws!
He has been asked to appear before a tribunal on August 22—on a contraband charge. I am hoping Hugo will be here—or Tony’s father—but I think Hugo would be better. Then I pray Tony will get away from here. I am very worried about him and wish you could come back for just a few days so I could talk with you about him.
I regret having dragged you into all of this—or was it the other way around? Anyway you have all my love for whatever it’s worth. It seems to pull disorder, tears, and early sorrow in its wake. Sometimes I feel that I relinquish my better judgment to fate—or God or something. Anyway I don’t seem to be in control and maybe that’s for the best. I still can’t find my green earrings which you asked me not to lose and this upsets me almost more than anything—I’ve looked everywhere. They are either at the farm next door or in an olive grove. Dear Sam, we have had such a strange and lovely time.
Barbara
P.S. Tony gave away his microscope and typewriter! And what happened to all his money? He must have given it away, too. And should he be encouraged in this? I know he is an adult but I can’t keep bailing him out as I simply haven’t got the wherewithal to do so—the boy he gave it to can’t even type!
Alastair Reid
In the summer of 1970 I ran into Barbara in the main street in Palma. I was living way up in the mountains, in a village called Galilea. I hadn’t seen her since 1962 when she’d hailed me in the street in Málaga—she and Brooks and Tony were visiting Ethel de Croisset at her place there—and that was the last time I ever saw them
en famille.
The next thing is that I heard from Ethel’s mother, Elsie Woodward, that Brooks and Barbara were breaking up. That day in Palma, Barbara told me the whole painful thing about Brooks dumping her. A few days later I went up to see her. Tony wasn’t there, but later on they both drove over to Galilea to visit me, we had lunch at the pension, and from that point on, Tony sent me poems that he’d written. What I used to do was very patiently point out to him technical things and give him books to read.
But then suddenly he began to change and write prose—little pieces of prose about a page long. Some of them were really quite eerie, as though they were fragments of some enormous thing, but I couldn’t imagine what or where they were coming from, because his poems had been more or less bucolic and what you might expect as exercises, and suddenly I realized there was a very savage landscape inside Tony.
I began to see him as rather cruelly victimized by circumstance, and I realized then that the Brooks/Barbara thing had left him…had just left him, abandoned him,
stopped
him.
Of course, Barbara’s version of how things were was always very positive. She was a great, you know, smoother-over.
That summer I got pulled back in. But it’s a couple of summers later when I saw that what I had thought was a merely understandably disturbed context was
infinitely
more than that—it was all coming apart then, it was all really unhinging itself. I mean, you were looking into something terrible.
Letter from Barbara Baekeland to Sam Green, August 22, 1970
